The Poltergeist
by Legio IX Hispana
Summary: With the Southern Isles defeated in a war against Arendelle, Queen Elsa moves into the abandoned castle for a few months to be closer to her new subjects. However, she is not aware of the violent spirit of a prince still lingering within its walls.
1. First Impressions

**A/N:** I need to think the other story through. I've been constructing and reconstructing the plot mentally for several weeks to form a very cohesive and solid plot that doesn't end in the usual cliche "happy ending" stuff. So here's an alternative instead. Maybe it's a form of catharsis from all the college stress, but this plot's been intermingling with my ideas for the other one, so maybe it's best if I get it out :P Since this one has no definite plot as of now, I'm _very_ willing to take ideas for this one.

* * *

 **Poltergeist I**

First Impressions

* * *

"You'll be alright there?"

"I'll be fine, Anna. Are you sure you'll hold up on your own here?"

"Hey, you can count on me. I mean, how hard can it be?"

"Would you like me to answer that?"

"Um, no, please. You'll write to me, won't you?"

"Anna, it's just three months. It's not a long time."

"… So you'll write to me, right?"

Elsa sighed, but she smiled all the same, taking Anna's hands in hers. "I will. I promise."

* * *

In the last year or so, the Southern Isles had been a warring nation, seeking to build a mighty empire through brute force.

When they dared to wage war against Arendelle after Queen Elsa refused to give her allegiance to such a violent king, she was given no choice but to defend her kingdom.

Normally, it would have been a lost cause, as Arendelle was not gifted in military prowess. They were, however, an affluent country with all their trade relations, and their Queen was highly commended for her natural gift in diplomacy and her peaceful, benevolent nature.

But what their neighbouring countries— Southern Isles included— didn't know was that Elsa was also born with magical powers, namely the power to have complete manipulation over ice as if they were her own limbs.

So when the huge Southern Isles fleet arrived in Arendelle's waters, Elsa decided that she had been keeping her powers a secret for far too long. She froze the fjord, leaving the massive fleet like sitting ducks under the projectiles of the Arendelle's catapults. Disembarking their ships for sword combat would be plain stupidity, as they were still very far off from the Arendelle shores.

In the end, a lucky blow had been enough to destroy the flagship, killing the Southern Isles king and his eleven brothers. The rest of the fleet signalled their defeat, and Elsa allowed them to return home as unscathed as they could be.

As the victorious monarch, Elsa was legally allowed to take Southern Isles under her jurisdiction, regardless of the numerous heirs left by the twelve brothers. She had no desire to anyway. But with the king's costly military exploits, the kingdom's resources had nearly been depleted, and they are bordering to poverty.

With the blood of the eleven sons of the Southern Isles weighing heavily in her conscience, she felt that she was obligated to help the kingdom be restored to its former glory.

And to govern the kingdom properly, she sought to fix the problem herself rather than let eager dukes, generals, or governors do it for her. She wanted to be among her new people. She wanted them to trust her, to look up to her as the people of Arendelle did, not some monstrous witch who killed their king and their princes. She did not want to rule her new subjects by evading them.

Roughly a month after the battle, with at least two dozens of loyal guards with her, Elsa voyaged to the Southern Isles.

* * *

There was barely a soul in sight in the streets of the Southern Isles when she arrived there two weeks later. Occasionally, she could see eyes peeking from boarded windows or slightly ajar doors.

Other than a handful of guards and a few dukes, there was no else to greet her when she made her way to the castle. She was informed beforehand that the wives of the previous monarchy had fled to the mountains or otherwise sailed to another kingdom. The fact tugged so violently at Elsa's conscience, seeing as she had not only killed their husbands and fathers, but she had also unknowingly drove them out of the kingdom as they were deathly afraid of her powers.

The kingdom was such in a sorry shape. The market could use more items to sell. The degrading houses obviously needed repairs. The streets could use some sweepers. The abandoned shops could potentially open again. The lepers and homeless grimacing at her in the alleys could use some help as well. And the list goes on.

The castle was the only building that stood as a reminder of how glorious the kingdom used to be. As the carriage entered the gates, she saw that the garden was well tended; it was a lush of green peppered with the reds of the roses and the whites of the orchids and lilies.

What was left of the staff was assembled in the main foyer, awaiting her orders.

There wasn't much to be said. She wasn't here to change the household rules. She had no intention of tearing down the paintings of their royals on the walls. She was there to help them, not oppress them.

"Please. Continue your daily activities," she said gently, smiling at them, "I won't be needing anything. I will require someone, though, to kindly show my guards the way to your barracks. I'm sure they'll be comfortable there. I will be seeing you all this lunch."

The staff glanced at each other nervously, shuffling their feet and muttering nervously to their neighbors. No one looked up at her nor acknowledged her short statement.

It was not until the head servant old them to go about their business did they file out of the room.

It wasn't much of a welcome, but it was as good as it was going to get. It was understandable that they didn't trust her, and she was almost sure that more than half of the staff was afraid of her.

It would take some time and work, all right, but she knows that she can win their faith in her.

* * *

The head servant had offered her the king's room as a place for her to stay, but she politely declined.

The very thought of sleeping in the room that once belonged to the dead king made her cold. And that was saying something since the cold never usually bothered her.

She declined the rooms of the king's brothers as well, and had opted to stay in a spare bedroom that was at the very end of the hall.

The head servant shifted uncomfortably. "Your Majesty is certain? You wish to stay in that room?"

She smiled at him. "It's not about the size of the room. As long as there's a bed to rest my head, it's fine by me."

"Yes, well…" the head servant paused, extracting a keyring laboriously from his coat, as if the very action was painful to him. "That room has not been used for quite some time and… I fear that it maybe… _unfitting_ for Your Grace…"

"We'll see," Elsa answered.

The head servant hesitated, but he unlocked the door just the same.

It gave a rather loud creak that echoed in the empty hall as it swung forward.

Elsa stepped in the doorway, staring at the room.

It was fairly large. It was also well furnished, and surprisingly well maintained despite being "unused" for quite some time. The curtains, the carpet, and the bedsheets were bathed in pale sea green colour. The fireplace was very clean with a fresh pile of wood, and on the mantel shelf held several marble figurines; all pristinely white.

"It's beautiful," Elsa managed to say as she stepped by the window. She had a full view of the sea and port beyond the castle walls. From the misty reflection of the windowpane, she saw the head servant move closer behind her. "I can't imagine why you wouldn't let me use the room. This will do just fine for me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that, Your Grace."

Elsa turned and was slightly surprised to see that the head servant was still in the hall outside the room with her two guards. She glanced again at the windowpane, but only saw the brilliant blue sky beyond it.

Quirking an eyebrow, she shook her head slightly and repeated the statement to the head servant before examining the door to the adjoining bathroom. The beautiful marble room had a huge pool at the floor, and the scent of irises was pervading the air. She'll have to admit that it made her want to take a dip in warm water.

With her examination over, she went over to the head servant.

"Yes. I choose this room," she said, smiling.

She wasn't an expert on reading facial expressions, but she could tell as much that the head servant was not happy about it.

* * *

After a rather silent lunch with the servants waiting nervously at the sidelines, Elsa immediately retuned to her new room to begin with her documents.

She did not bother to roam around the castle. It was not her home, and she did not intend to stay there permanently. Besides, on the way to lunch, she could see how utterly terrified the servants were of her. She couldn't afford to further scare them by meandering around aimlessly and showing up unannounced.

So with two guards stationed at her door, she set up at the writing desk and began by writing to Anna.

She trusts Anna, all right, but she cannot deny that she was not ready for handling the responsibility of governing Arendelle in her shoulders just yet. That's why she also set Kai to act as a regent should things get too intense for Anna; she wasn't exactly known to be as calm as Elsa should trouble rear its ugly head.

She had already written an entire paragraph depicting her mundane weeks at sea when she heard a rather loud _thud!_ behind her.

She swivelled on her seat, eyes rapidly scanning the source of the disturbance.

Her eyes fell on the fireplace, where a marble figurine— now split into several pieces— was resting on the dry logs.

"Oh no…" Elsa muttered, leaping out of her seat.

She swiftly bent and gathered the pieces. It was the figurine of a bust of an austere looking bearded man, with an inscription that said:

Caspar Hansel Abram Westergaard

Den Første Konge

Elsa sighed. _Great. Of all the figurines to get smashed under my watch, it's the bust of Southern Isles' first king. The staff will surely have a lot of things to say about this behind my back… But how did it fall in the first place?_

She glanced back at the windows. They were closed. No wind must have come through. The door was locked. The bathroom door was also sealed. Besides, no petty wind should be strong enough to blow the small figure off the mantel shelf unless it was a hurricane…

She tried to stick back the large chunks together with her magic, using her ice to fill out the minuscule gaps. She gingerly placed it back on the mantel shelf. The figure now shone with ice crystals at the cracks.

She sighed again, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

 _Who am I kidding? It looks terrible. I guess I'll just have to buy a replica. Or maybe I could go to the sculptor—_

The sounds of glass smashing jolted her back to her senses.

Dark ink began to crawl lazily on the carpet like fresh blood spilt. It took her several seconds to realise that the sound came from her ink bottle which was now on the floor. Dark ink began to crawl lazily on the carpet like fresh blood spilt.

She rushed over to the writing desk, eyebrows quirked at the second object that fell and broke. She stopped in doing do when she saw the state of her desk.

She let out a groan when she saw that the entire paragraph that she had written for Anna was completely unintelligible with ink poured all over it and over half of her desk.

* * *

While the servants had volunteered to clean up the mess in her room, Elsa opted to visit the castle's massive library.

It was truly a wonder to be beheld.

The skylights brought down magnificent illumination over the vast expanse of shelves and plush sofas. The unique homey scent of crisp pages and leather bound books were a delight in the senses. The unfamiliar busts in the aisles and the corners, and the stern looking paintings of the castle's previous occupants, though, bothered her greatly and gave her the impression that she was being watched and scrutinised.

The guards had remained stationed at the door so as to allow her the leisure of privacy.

After browsing through some shelves, Elsa settled on an extensive treatise on the political history of the Southern Isles to get an idea how the monarchy works on the kingdom. She let herself sit down on one of the armchairs somewhere on the second level next to a window as she began to turn the pages.

The sounds of someone climbing the stairs startled her.

 _Odd_ , she thought. She had not heard the doors open.

She sat still and strained her ears to listen through the silence that had ensued.

"Hello?" She called loudly after a measured pause.

When no one answered her, Elsa was sure that she had hallucinated the noise.

For an undetermined amount of time, Elsa had gotten as far as three chapters when—

" _Get out_."

The hairs on the back of her neck stood, and a foreign sensation of coldness— she _never_ felt the cold of her powers in a living memory— came cascading down her spine.

She jumped from her seat, heart thundering in her ears, her breath leaving her lips in short huffs.

Her eyes madly scanned her perimeter.

No one. Not a soul. She was alone.

But surely she didn't imagine that voice? She was sure that she heard someone, a faint sound like a distant voice, directly talking in her ear.

When she heard someone walking again— this time, it sounds like someone was waking somewhere _next_ to her, _towards_ her— she bolted.

She nearly tripped on herself as she sped her way out of the library, clutching the book tightly under hear arm.

" _GET OUT."_

She was almost at the door when something very solid collided at the back of her head, and her world spun right before her eyes.

She felt her body hit the carpeted floor with a resonating thud as her vision dimmed and blurred. She heard her guards knocking on the door and asking her if she's all right. She couldn't answer them. Her strength and consciousness were slipping away rapidly.

The last thing she saw was a pair of black boots walking next to her before she succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

The next time she came to was around night time, and she was back in her room.

By then, she had found out that her guards had conducted an investigation to find out why their queen was suddenly found unconscious in the library. They suspected that there was a secret passage somewhere, but they promptly dropped the matter when Elsa told them to.

It was no servant, she was sure. If someone was attempting to kill her, they wouldn't be making so much noise, let alone whisper to her ear. But she didn't tell them that.

It was was against their will, but they did as she had asked. It was noticeable, though, that the captain stationed more guards to watch over her.

The head servant had appointed her a personal assistant, a young girl named Alva, who also acted as her nurse.

"Is Her Majesty hungry?" the young woman timidly asked, but she did so with a gentle, genuine smile.

Elsa smiled back, "No, thank you, Alva."

"But Her Majesty has missed dinner. Are you sure, Your Grace?" Alva persisted. "You need to build up your strength."

Elsa did not tell her, but somehow, her innate powers also gave her the ability to recuperate faster than any average human can. In her few hours of rest, her magic had already done its wonders. She could barely feel the pain at the back of her head, which was now more of a dull and distant throbbing.

"I'll be fine," she said.

Alva smiled and nodded. "Is there anything else Her Majesty need?"

"No. But I do have a question," Elsa said, carefully choosing her next words.

"Of course. Anything, Your Grace," the young woman said.

"Is there… something wrong with the library?" Elsa asked carefully, watching the young girl's face astutely.

Alva stilled for a moment, answering her gaze, before answering with a question of her own, "What do you mean, Your Majesty?"

Elsa had a very shrewd feeling that this young woman knows exactly what she meant— she could see the anxiety dancing in her wary hazel eyes— but she knew better than to pry forcefully.

"I've… I've heard noises," Elsa said slowly. She doesn't want to let Alva think that she's delusional.

She could see the shift in Alva's attitude; she sat straighter, and her breathing became slightly shallow. "Noises, Your Majesty?" she asked, strangely sounding calm still.

She could see how distressed the girl was, so Elsa decided to drop it for now. It was no use to go through an inquisition with Alva on the brink of an anxiety attack.

Elsa merely smiled and told her that she assumed that she was just hearing things, effectively calming down Alva when she shifted their conversation regarding her observation of the castle gardens.

Alva left her after a while. Elsa used her magic to distinguish all of the candles in the room with a flick of her hand, as she doesn't feel up to the idea of leaving the comfort of her bed.

Semi-darkness cloaked the room immediately. Through the brilliant moonlight streaming through the windows, she could see the ice crystals glinting on the small marble figurine at the mantel shelf across from her.

Her body was still slightly disoriented with the concussion, but she easily found out that she was still too shaken to fall asleep.

So much for her first day at Southern Isles as its new queen.

She could not get the voice out of her head. It sounded human, all right. It distinctly sounded like a man's voice. It sounded like an _angry_ man. She could have dismissed the voice as a trick of the mind, but the sound of those footsteps were there to negate that idea.

Someone had been in the library with her.

She had been facing and blankly staring at the wall as she mused these thoughts. And as deep as she was in her mental analysis, her vigilance made it possible for her to notice a movement somewhere in her peripheral vision.

At the wall, she saw a shadow.

A tall man's silhouette, standing somewhere behind her.

Elsa hurriedly spun and sat up, her hand charged and poised to strike, her heart throbbing unpleasantly in her throat and in her head. She was breathing to hard that it was making her dizzy.

She was immediately facing the windows.

No one was there.

Beyond the window was the moon in the sky, and seas in the horizon.

 _Something is wrong here_ , Elsa thought, her paranoia still gripping tenaciously at her heart, _Clearly someone—_ something— _is trying to throw me out of the castle. If I'm going to help Southern Isles, I'll have to deal with this little problem first._

* * *

 **NOTES~**

 _ **Poltergeist:**_ [Wikipedia definition] In folklore and parapsychology, a **poltergeist** (German for "noisy ghost") is a type of ghost or other supernatural being supposedly responsible for physical disturbances such as loud noises and objects moved around or destroyed.

 ** _Den Første Konge:_** [Danish] The First King.


	2. Pride

**A/N:** I forgot to clarify something, I'm sorry. This is an entirely out of the original _Frozen_ timeline. The events of the canonical _Frozen_ never transpired.

* * *

 **Poltergeist II**

Pride

* * *

Elsa saw to it that no time is wasted on her second day at the Southern Isles.

 _Something_ had apparently delayed her schedule as it is.

Contrary to her cold welcome the day before, every staff member she passed by on her way to breakfast were concerned and surprised that she was already up on her feet. She told them with heartfelt gratitude and assurance that she was as fine as she could be.

She conducted her affairs at the breakfast table; documents and stacks of paper were neatly placed alongside her meal. If any member of the staff found this weird, they didn't let it on. Elsa simply couldn't guarantee her safety and her peace within the confines of her room.

The yesterday's events had shaken her, she cannot deny that.

It took her several hours to find the will to sleep. She spent countless hours worrying about Anna and Arendelle, and her own safety in the Southern Isles. Her anxiety was evident through an inch deep snow in her bedroom that morning, which she took time to thaw before getting ready for the day.

She had been in the dining hall all morning and well after lunch before she finally took a break.

Her eyes were getting sore from consulting various Southern Isles books and documents. Her hands were shaky from the continuous use on writing letters and decrees. Her voice sounded parched and incredibly hoarse from the neglect of usage when she told one of her guards to send her letter and her instructions to Anna.

Normally, she would have gone to a library to bask in the comfort of the scent of books and the calm quiet that envelops her entirely. But after yesterday's events, she opted to take a short trip around town instead.

So after taking a short break to breath and relax, she went to the stables to borrow a horse.

The lone stableboy tending the horses nearly tripped over himself in his attempt to bow to her obsequiously.

When she told him that she wished to ride one of the horses, the young stableboy scratched his head and tilted his head aside in curiosity, "Won't Her Majesty prefer a carriage instead?"

Elsa shook her head with a tired smile. She wants the people of the Southern Isles to get used to her presence among them. Being inside a carriage will hide her from plain sight, and she felt that the people will take her wish to remain unseen as her wish to be distant from them.

The stableboy returned several minutes later with a large Fjord horse. It was a beautiful stallion, she thought. It was a tan horse with a mesmerising black and white mane. But what spoke most of all to Elsa was its soulful amber eyes. One glance at the magnificent creature and one could easily tell that it was mired in some sort of depressive state. Its ears were lowered, and its neck was bowed.

"I hope Her Majesty will like 'im," said the stableboy, patting the horse's nose affectionately, "He's been a lonely one, he is. But he's a smart one. Been awhile since someone rode 'im."

"What happened to his previous owner?" Elsa asked, pathos powerfully tugging at her heartstrings at the sight of the poor horse.

The stableboy paused and lowered his head. "He's gone for several years now, ma'am," he said quietly.

At first, Elsa felt the unpleasant plummeting sensation in her gut at the thought that this was the horse of one of the previous king's brothers, but the last part of the statement captured her interest.

"Several years?" Elsa asked in hushed tones.

The stableboy nodded. "That's what they told me. I was kind of new here, you see, ma'am. Been here for a couple of months before the king died. All I know is that they told me Sitron here was some prince's horse."

"This prince you spoke of, who was he?" Elsa further pressed.

"I don't know him, ma'am, but from what I've heard, he was the youngest prince, I think. The thirteenth one, they told me. No one talked about him much."

 _Odd_ , Elsa thought. From what she could remember before the Arendelle was attacked, she was going to defend her kingdom against twelve brothers from the Southern Isles. Not thirteen. She had never known the members of their kin as Southern Isles had little to nonexistent contact with Arendelle beforehand. No delegation even came from the kingdom on the day she was crowned as queen.

"What happened to him?" Elsa asked cautiously, her heart beginning to increase its pace at the possibility of a survivor to usurp the throne.

The stableboy scratched his head and shifted anxiously on the spot. "The details are kinda foggy, ma'am. I'm not sure for myself."

Again, she felt the cold creep up her spine and grip her heart tenaciously.

An unknown prince. The supposed brother of the previous monarch.

Where is he? What happened to him? Does he know that his brothers are dead? If he does, is he not interested to take back the throne from her?

In her short pause, the stableboy spoke up, "Does Her Majesty need help with the horse?"

Elsa shook her head and smiled at him, trying to shake off the unpleasant cold enveloping her. "No, thank you. I can take it from here."

* * *

The Southern Isle folk took their time in interacting with her.

They were deathly afraid of her first, but Elsa had been genuine in her attempt to be closer to them. She even stopped several times to entertain curious children by making ice figures for them. She toured the marketplace, the streets where the elite lived, the ports, and even the dilapidated houses at the borders of the kingdom's walls. She talked to anyone who are willing to entertain her questions. She listened to the problems they observed and the developments they longed to see.

She took notes of her observations as her guards trailed mutely behind her. Sitron was quiet and somber throughout the tour, but he was cooperative nonetheless. He neighed gratefully, though, every time children handed him carrots or apples to feed on as they passed by.

By the time she retired to the castle, it was getting dark, but she was in good spirits.

Though some people are still wary of her and her anomalous ice powers, she was sure she had made a good impression on the people.

She personally returned Sitron to the stables.

"Thank you for today, Sitron. I'm sorry if that was a long walk," Elsa said to him as she affectionately patted his neck. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise. I'll come visit you, all right?"

The horse grunted, but he nudged her cheek with his nose to show her that he understood her.

He was such a good horse, Elsa thought. She was sorry that he had been lonely for quite some time.

When she got to the stables, a portly man greeted her instead of the stableboy earlier.

"Oh, Janik?" The man said when she asked him where the young man was, "I sent him home for the time being, Your Grace. He took a nasty blow to the head sometime in the afternoon after you left the castle. I found him facedown on the hay and the place was a mess! Horses running about and the tools strewn everywhere! I had a word with his father about this, I did. Janik was mumbling about some flying horseshoe hitting him squarely in the face. The poor lad must've had a lot to drink, I'd say."

Elsa's brow furrowed. "He wasn't drunk when I visited him this afternoon," she said.

The man simply shrugged. "Regardless, we'll have to consider putting him back again after this little fiasco. Anyway…"

He faltered when he finally noticed the horse accompanying Elsa.

He blanched under the candlelight. "Her Majesty has ridden Sitron?"

"Yes," Elsa said, smiling slightly as she patted the horse again, "He's been a gentle companion. Please, sir, can you assure that Sitron gets a good ration of apples tonight?"

The man was still for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. "Uh, yes, Your Grace, of course…"

She bade Sitron a final goodbye before she made her way back to the castle. She made a final glance before the stables were out of sight.

She saw silhouettes of two people.

She chanced a glance again, heart jamming into her throat.

She saw the man escort Sitron back, alone.

* * *

Elsa began to plan her next course of action to improve the kingdom's economy. To do that, she'll have to consult with another set of books to deal with the culture, norms, and customs of the Southern Isle folk. This will be significant in terms of the items they sold, and the items they will be willing to buy from their foreign neighbors.

If there's on thing Elsa couldn't deny, it was that she is a perfectionist.

Even if that perfectionism was going to kill her.

On her trip to the library that evening, she had her guards follow her into the massive room. Even Alva was there should she need anything to accompany her late night time, she positioned herself in front of the fireplace, sitting securely in one of the comfortable sofas.

Though she was more confident now that she had company, Elsa can't help but glance at the second floor every now and then, straining her ears to hear with vivid clarity.

With her eyes trained on the books, she did not notice the light snowfall around her.

When her guards didn't speak up, Alva did.

"Pardon me, Your Grace," she began quietly, which prompted Elsa to direct her attention to her, albeit startled slightly, "Is there something you need?"

Elsa finally noticed the snow steadily powdering the room. She waved her hand, and the snow disappeared from sight, much to the young servant's awe. Normally, she would've waved off the question, but with the day's events finally catching up to her, she deemed to ask, "Alva, how long have you been serving in the castle?"

Alva seemed quite taken aback by the question, but she answered nonetheless. "Since I was ten years of age, Your Grace. I am now past nineteen years old."

"Ah. I would just like to verify something with you," Elsa said, and then she patted the empty spot next to her. "Please, sit with me."

Alva gingerly sat herself down next to the queen, placing a respectable distance between the two of them.

"Alva," Elsa began, meticulously marking the pages of the books opened in front of her as she talked, "How many brothers did the king have?"

Alva shifted on her seat, staring at her hands on her lap. "Eleven, Your Grace."

"Just eleven? Are they really just twelve brothers all in all?"

Alva paused. "No," she finally said. "They were supposed thirteen, including the king."

Elsa sat straighter, "The brother they have omitted. What happened to him?"

Alva's head shot up, and she fidgeted with her hands agitatedly; a gesture Elsa herself was well familiar with. Anna had pointed out to her countless times that when she was anxious, she would turn her nervous energy to her hands. Though her habit was still difficult to control, she was more aware of it now.

She regretted asking, as this was clearly something that somehow bothers the young servant woman. "Alva—"

"He's dead, Your Majesty," the girl blurted out. "He's been dead for quite some time. Seven years, in fact. He's been laid to rest at the castle catacombs alongside his father and ancestors for years."

Elsa felt a sickening freezing sensation envelop her all over. "Dead? What… What happened?"

Alva took a deep breath and straightened up. "There were many speculations. None of us really knew why. It all happened so suddenly. One day they just found him dead in his room. After he was interred, the king strictly told us not to talk about him, let alone mention his name."

Elsa suddenly realised something, and it made her feel colder.

"His room… Where was his room?"

Alva's facial response told her all that she needed to know.

* * *

When Elsa returned to the "spare room" she was residing in at the end of the hall, she knew that sleep was nearly impossible to be acquired that night.

Literally _everything_ was in a state of disarray.

All her personal effects in the closets and the cabinets were strewn all over the floor from her clothes to her jewelries. The sheets had evidently been pulled— rather violently— from the bed. She realised with a heavy heart the moment she saw her books on the floor was that the pages had been ripped from their bindings as well.

Shocked, frightened, and angry all at the same time, Elsa stood in the middle of room.

The sooner she gets through this little problem, the sooner she can work in peace. Ignoring it was not an option.

"Are you here?" Elsa asked aloud, clutching the books she had from the library tightly under her arm as an anchorage.

It felt ridiculously silly for her to ask the apparent ruin all around her, but if her hunch was right…

Chilling silence.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door of the adjoining bathroom slammed close with a deafening _bang_!

Elsa gripped the books tighter, facing the direction of the bathroom with steel resolution as she held her head high. "I'm sorry if I'm seemingly invading your room, but—"

" _Murderer."_

Elsa dropped the books as she whipped around, her shaking hands poised to discharge her powers. It sounded as if the voice was directly behind her. She steeled her expression, not letting her fear win over her.

" _You killed them."_

The accusation sounded heavy in her ears, and she felt her resolve melt.

It wasn't her fault. She didn't want them to die.

"I didn't—"

" _GET OUT!"_

The windows blasted open with a powerful gust of wind, knocking Elsa off-balance, and she stumbled to the bed.

Her guards came bursting through her door, their swords drawn and they stood in vigilance.

Elsa quickly waved them off to wait outside. They gave her confused looks, but she was adamant to keep them out of harm's way. She can handle this on her own.

When they reluctantly exited, Elsa shakily stood to her feet again. She crossed her arms in defiance as she raised her head high in an imposing figure with a grimace affixed to her face.

"You accuse me of things that you don't understand," she began, addressing the now silent room. The quiet gave her courage. "I find it _insulting_. I am no such thing and I _don't_ want you to call me that _ever again_."

No response.

Elsa took this as a positive sign that he was probably listening. She was still afraid, but she wasn't about to show him that.

"Secondly, had I known that _someone_ was using the room, I would've asked your permission. The staff told me absolutely _nothing_ about you and your outbursts, so I wouldn't have known. Obviously, you don't like me, and I can say the feeling's quite mutual, sir. But I'm here to help Southern Isles, and I can't do that with you violating my belongings and making a scene for yourself."

One of the marble figures at the mantel shelf began floating on its own. Elsa watched, bewildered, as the poor little figure was hurled out of the open windows and into the courtyard below.

She glared at the direction of the fireplace. "Are you done?"

A marble figure of a man on a horse was hurled at her head. It missed her ear by mere inches and it landed with a feeble _thump!_ on the bed instead.

"Well… I hope you're pleased with yourself," Elsa huffed as she picked one of her nightclothes from the floor. "Now, if you still have some decency left in you, you'd leave me momentarily while I change."

Another marble figure dropped on the floor and was smashed to pieces, joining the assorted mess already accumulated across the floor.

Elsa sighed.

Perhaps asserting her dominance was not the best approach. True, she badly wanted to get this ordeal with the turbulent spirit done with so that she could work efficiently in peace, but at the same time, she felt the need to pacify him. The Afterlife couldn't be more unfair to him. She couldn't imagine dying and losing Anna. For seven years, this seemingly violent soul had roamed the castle walls, and to what end?

She maybe angry at him for destroying her belongings, but she also feels sorry for him. Heaven knows she does. Her human heart, her human compassion and kindness, won over her shallow hatred. It always does.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. It was all she could say. "I didn't want any of them to die."

Silence. Everything was still.

Nothing but the howls of the wind beyond the windows accompanied her troubled thoughts.


	3. Prejudice

to **SharKohen:** Interesting theory :) Good observation, too. We'll see.

* * *

 **Poltergeist III**

Prejudice

* * *

The incident of the the "haunting" at the Queen's room was every servant's heated discussion for consecutive days.

The fact that Queen Elsa was acting as though nothing happened had immensely impressed them. Most of the staff, however, remained impartial, or were convinced that the queen can easily communicate with "their resident poltergeist" because of her "demonic powers".

Alva had reported these views to her, but Elsa did not attempt to assert her dominance over the staff; they have the freedom to think whatever they wished, as long as they were not hurting anyone else with it.

"I maybe a queen, but I can only take control of people's actions, not their hearts or their minds," she would say to Alva. "Never attempt to win anyone's affections by force when they can be won by trust and patience."

The poltergeist, it seemed, began following her around.

But by the end of a week, Elsa had grown accustomed to his invisible— albeit _annoying_ and exhaustibly tiresome— presence.

At first, the violent spirit continued his attempt to instil fear and supremacy by completely violating her room whenever she would leave its confines. She would always return to find it in a state of chaos, but she nonetheless brushed it off and silently restored everything to the way they were before.

When this tactic proved to be ineffective, he began to torture her with "little things".

Whenever she was writing on her desk, her writing quill will suddenly fly from her hand several times; she would silently retrieve it and continue her work until he wrenches it out of her hand again.

Whenever she was eating, her goblet would suddenly spill its whole contents on her lap; she would gracefully ask for a refill from the nearest terrified servant without so much as fussing.

Whenever she would take a moment for herself and simply idle in the small pool in her bathroom, she would suddenly find her towel or articles of clothing gone from where she'd left them; she would leave the comforting embrace of the water to boldly cross the threshold as bare as she is with her head held high to retrieve the said items from wherever the poltergeist decided to hang them.

Whenever she would lie in her bed every night, the windows were opening and closing, and the bathroom door was being slammed deafeningly on its frame as loud as it can go; she would merely place the pillow over her head and wait for fatigue to let her sleep.

One of them has to break, and Elsa decided that it's not going to be her.

She was, after all, a queen. She was the last person expected to lose her mind.

After a week, she was continuing her work at the Southern Isles with considerable ease. Trade relations with Arendelle were secured, and Elsa was beginning to study rationalising funds for repairs in the kingdom.

The staff even began to be more open and more honest to her in terms of the noisy ghost haunting the castle.

From the stories she gathered from the servants who were willing to talk about the poltergeist, it seems that his particular favourite area of haunting is the West Wing of the castle, where the highest tower was usually located. And according to them, recently, his "new favourite" area of torment was Elsa's room.

"Has he harmed anyone before?" Elsa asked Alva one evening as they were walking back to her room with the guards quietly trailing behind them.

Alva cleared her throat. "Several occasions. The most recent one is Janik, our stableboy," she said quietly. "It mostly happens when someone tries to clean up the West Wing corridors. No one has been up at the highest tower for years."

"Not even the king or his brothers?"

"Especially them, Your Grace. They never even mention his name ever since he…"

"I understand. So it seems that our disruptive resident ghost is… lonely…"

Alva chuckled softly. "If he only he were a bit friendlier, it might have been the other way around."

Elsa smiled softly, remembering her week. "So it seemed. I wonder, though, has anyone ever seen him? I mean, did he ever haunt anyone where he actually show his face?"

Alva paused, a habit Elsa had come to know as her way of forming an answer that was not the whole truth, but was not particularly a lie either.

"He did." And Alva said no more than that.

They spent the rest of the walk to her room in silence.

* * *

Elsa aimed to fix internal relationships within the castle as well.

She got the idea after unintentionally walking in on a shouting match between a laundress and a gardener while she was aimlessly wandering near the servants' quarters while on a break. The event shocked her, as no sort of conflict _ever_ arose in her staff in Arendelle. She was even more disturbed when Alva told her that it was a regular occurrence.

Elsa then decided that if she intends to fix Southern Isles, she will have to fix it inside out.

Alva became one of the few people in the castle (except maybe her own guards from Arendelle) whom Elsa could really trust. She instructed the girl to note down any conflicts within the staff and report to her.

Alva's report of the head chef being unjustly tyrannic prompted her visit to the kitchen one afternoon.

She caught the head chef shouting belligerently at his flustered and panicking subordinates. When they caught sight of her, everyone in the room fell silent and obliged her a bow, grudgingly so. To most of them, they were seeing Elsa for the second time since her arrival at the castle. They were not exposed to her presence compared to the other servants roaming around the castle, and Elsa can understand why they still see her as an outsider.

"Sir, what is your name?" Elsa addressed to the head chef as the others went about their work in the background.

"Jonas," the man replied gruffly, arms crossed over his chest.

"Well, Jonas, what seems to be the problem here?" Elsa asked amiably, taking a step forward to let him know that she wasn't the least intimidated by him. It was obvious who held the higher authority in that room, and this attitude problem was not going to faze her.

"Nothing. I got everything under control," Jonas muttered, grimacing.

"If that's the case then, I don't see why you should shout at your men," Elsa said, "If you need something to be done, talked to them in the way you want to be talked to."

Jonas' face began to redden in irritation. "They have nothing to say to _me_. _I'm_ the one who's giving orders around here, not them."

"That doesn't give you an excuse to talk them down. You work together as one unit for the castle, and to maintain that unity, you need to respect each other."

" _I_ demand respect from them because I _lead_ them," Jonas growled, " _You_ of all people should know that without respect from your men, you can never impose order."

"Ah. Then, it seems we have a problem, Jonas," Elsa said, "Because what you're doing right now is a solid definition of _irony_. So would you like me demand your respect right here and now?"

Everyone had stopped working and were deadly silent, watching as Jonas' face turn as red as it can be. In the tense silence, Elsa anxiously wondered if he would suddenly strangle her or hit her. He looked like he was about to.

But in the end, Jonas merely muttered. "My apologies."

While Elsa considered this a small step to victory, she can't help but feel afraid for her life as she took a final glance at the kitchen on her way out.

Jonas' murderous glare looked as though he was planning to throw her in his next stew.

* * *

She scent of burning clothes flooded her nostrils.

Elsa knew she had reached her limits when she returned later that day to her room to find her gloves— _the gloves her father gave her_ — burning in the fireplace along with her pillows.

How he managed to ignite the fire she did not know.

She couldn't _care_.

Ice particles began to manifest in the room as she desperately released a powerful gust of icy air into the roaring flames to save what she could. All that remained on the fireplace were black and charred lumpy fabrics coated with a thin layer of ice.

Elsa let out a frustrated shout as snow and ice began to invade her room.

It was her father's gift. Her source of comfort and security for countless years when she had to meticulously hide her magic when she was a child. Those small and homely pieces clothing were personally made by her parents _for her_. Her father had chosen the finest silk to grace his daughter's fingers. Her mother had embroidered those precious little Arendelle insignias with her own hands. Those gloves were their gifts; one of the few physical remnants that proved that they had existed in Elsa's life.

" _Are you here?_ " She shouted angrily, rage surging in her veins like burning fire, "Come out. Come out, show your face, have a good laugh, and _go_ already!"

It was not in Elsa's nature to be angry, so this was entirely new for her. The raging rush of melancholic nostalgia and vindictive anger gave her the impulse to cry and roar at the same time. The room was already plunged in something akin to the first signs of winter with all the snow on the floor and the ice coating the surfaces of the furniture. She couldn't feel the cold, of course. All she felt were the flames of rage.

Yet as quickly as her anger came, it easily began to dissipate. She began to remember why she _hated_ getting mad as much as possible.

It was a consuming, suffocating sensation flooding her lungs.

 _Keep it together. Control it. Don't feel it. Don't feel it._

What mantra she used to control her powers was the same one she used in controlling her emotions. Her father thought her that. And while she silently protested on how limited her self-expression was when she was little, she soon came to realise that her emotions _dictate_ her powers. And as feelings are difficult to master or to control, her father had always commended her on her willpower.

Emotional control had gotten her this far in life, and she saw no reason to stop now.

So what are a couple of old children's gloves?

 _Only that it was from Mother and Father…_

She took a deep, jarring, but otherwise measured breath and gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed, wrestling with the urge to simply explode.

"Look," Elsa began, struggling to level her voice and to stop her hands from anxiously wringing each other, "I don't know if you're here, but if you are… You know, that was very immature of you. I tried— Heaven knows _I tried_ — to be patient with you. What is it that you want from me? I'm _not_ doing _anything_ to you."

The ice and the snow were beginning to disappear with a lazy wave of her hand.

Still no response from her ghostly opponent. No windows opening or closing, no doors slamming.

Elsa sighed tiredly, despondently. "It's best if you don't bother me for a while. If you have the _faintest_ shred of humanity left in you, you'd allow me this little favour," she tried to sound angry, but all that came out were words of a defeated soul.

She didn't know whether she'll be relieved or disappointed at the palpable silence around her.

* * *

She was working late at night four days later in her room.

Her eyes were getting irritated at the constant use, but Elsa was persistent that she should finish reading through mountains of reports. The financial problems had already been giving her a splitting headache, as the Southern Isles had really depleted their resources in funding the king's massive battle fleet.

 _But at least he's not bothering me_.

Four days had passed, and not a single "incident" seemed to have transpired.

She was beginning to wonder if she had unintentionally done something that warded him off permanently. She highly doubted it, though, as she considered the thought that he might have withdrawn to "his" West Wing. She supposed she should be thankful, as the poltergeist had troubled her enough as it is, physically and mentally.

Someone knocked on her door several minutes later, and Elsa gladly withdrew from her writing desk.

"Your Grace, some servants had spotted from below that the light from your window was still on," one of the chefs said, holding a tray with a tea set on it, "They wanted you to have this. Something to help you for your late night endeavours."

Giving the young man a tired but grateful smile, she asked him to set it up in her table before wishing him goodnight as he left.

With a fatigued sigh, Elsa let herself collapse on a chair, taking a moment to breathe before raising the cup to her lips.

She barely had a sip when the cup and its saucer flew from of her hands, making her jump and yelp.

After a moment of shock, her surprise had morphed into a familiar bubbling irritation. _So he's back_ …

Ignoring the smashed tea cup, she turned to the tea set and made use of the spare cup, beginning to overturn it. She barely had a good grasp of it too before it was suddenly floating in midair and was thrown to the wall with a _crash!_

Elsa snapped and stood up, fatigue forgotten and all.

"What is the matter with you? I'm _tired_ , or Heaven's sake! I don't think I can tolerate you for tonight," Elsa said angrily, leaning against the nearest wall for support. She had been working for hours and now she had to deal with these little tortures. Perfect.

"The question is, what is the matter with _you_? I was trying to save your neck, you egg."

Elsa froze.

As tired as she was, she was sure that she didn't hallucinate that voice.

"Funny," she said, adrenaline pumping madly as she casted her eyes all over the room, looking for no one in particular, "I don't think you knew what _saving_ meant, considering that you've been doing nothing of the sort to me these past few days—"

"Idiot. Your head chef— Jonas, if your memory's as dull as it is— had _poisoned_ your stupid tea. If that's not called saving, then I don't know what it was."

Elsa didn't know what information to absorb first; the fact that an attempted assassination had been made, or the fact that _he_ was actually _talking_ to her.

Talking. Not screaming or shouting. No vile accusations. No objects flying around.

It distinctively sounded like the voice she had heard a week before, but it somehow sounded entirely different without its ferocity. He sounded languid, calm, and _frighteningly human_.

She shook her head and closed her eyes, still feeling her hear beat uncontrollably somewhere in her chest. "I'm hallucinating. I'm hearing things. I'm just tired. Yes, yes I'm just tired. I'm imagining things…" she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You have a very vivid imagination then. Be careful, though. Most people would interpret such wild creativity as madness."

 _Definitely not a figment of my imagination_ , Elsa thought, looking up, still finding the room empty.

"Well, your move," said the voice.

"…What?"

"Look, you can't just let him run around the castle doing what he likes. The next thing you know, he'll come into your room with a butcher's knife."

While that thought terrified her, she can't help but say skeptically, "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?". The hype of his sudden interaction was dying as the familiar anger began to resurface. She wasn't afraid, probably because there was a noticeable lack of angry shouting in the way he talked.

"For the record, _I_ never tried to kill you," answered the voice, sounding closer this time. "And this is the last time I'm going to interfere with your affairs. Consider this as a payment for those gloves of yours."

"… What do you mean, the last time?" Elsa asked.

He did not answer her again.

She tried several times, attempting to make him talk, make him move things around, make him do _something._

For several minutes, she questioned herself if she had imagined the whole "conversation" or not. She was almost certain that— if he wasn't lying— the assassination was real. She could distinctly remember Jonas' face a few days before.

But then how did he know that it was poisoned?

Did he happen to be there at the kitchens when Jonas poisoned her tea?

Was he lying? Was he merely trying to announce his presence to her with some new form of drama?

But she did not touch her tea again. She didn't have to. The encounter was all it took for her to find her wakefulness.

She exits the room with two of her confused guards in tow, and headed straight for the castle's catacombs.

 _You can't just interact with me, run off, and expect to completely disappear off the face of the earth just like that,_ Elsa thought. _We still have some scores to settle with each other, but before we get to that point, I need to know who you are._

* * *

It was an odd, out-of-body experience to be among the dead.

Her two guards were hesitant to descend with her, but she volunteered to go in alone to spare them from the horror. So with only a lamp in her hand, she began her descent to the land of the dead.

Everything was submerged in a sepulchral silence and darkness that was darker than night itself. She felt cold, but this cold had nothing to do with her powers. Knowing that she was walking among the dead would send chill to anyone's spines. The only sounds that could be heard were her own footsteps, or occasional distant drops of water. Every now and then, she had a feeling that someone was watching her, and it took an immense willpower not to turn around and run back to her room.

Marble sculptures were scattered about. Busts filled the niches. The tombs were lined up neatly by the walls by generations, some with inscriptions in bronze plaques.

Elsa figured out that what bothered her the most were the tomb effigies.

Each tomb had _gisants_ ; visual representations of the bodies they held within them. Men and women graciously carved in marble and were placed as though they were merely sleeping on top of stone beds. Each face, each body, every article of clothing— all realistically and uniquely made.

So realistic that Elsa vaguely wondered if they would suddenly wake up from their slumber at the faintest of noise.

The previous king and his brothers were never retrieved from sea. It unnerved Elsa when she realised that their remains were still somewhere near Arendelle's seas, rotting in their watery graves.

So instead, the people of the Southern Isles made them a cenotaph; an empty tomb that was more of a monument than a resting place. It was obvious that this one was fairly recent. The gleaming bronze plaque listed the names of the twelve Westergaard brothers and some deep Latin quotations.

But what attracted Elsa's attention the most was the tomb right across the cenotaph. She was drawn to it, like a moth to a candlelight; only that she felt colder the closer she got.

Like all other tombs she had passed, this one also featured a tomb effigy.

The marble sculpture depicted a young man lying peacefully with his hands neatly folded across his chest. If the sculptor's work was accurate, then it appeared to Elsa that this man doesn't seem to be beyond his twenties; he still had this boyish wonder about him despite his mature composition. He had neat sideburns, a slightly pointed nose, and the sculptor even gave great attention to detail by giving him freckles across the nose.

And on the plaque, these words were inscribed:

Hans Erik Stepan Westergaard

Prince and Admiral

Son of the Proud Sixteenth Generation of the Royal Family

Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea.

"It's rude to stare, you know."

Elsa whipped around, nearly dropping the lamp in her hand.

She might as well have.

Opposite of her, leaning against the cenotaph, was a young man with his arms crossed.

His incredibly pale skin contrasted horribly with his strikingly vivid auburn hair and sideburns. His green eyes seem to glow. His head held high, he had a calm and confident smile on his face, as if he was amused by the dumbstruck horrified look Elsa was giving him.

He grinned; a sight that appealed as gruesome and spine-chilling for Elsa. "Hi."

* * *

 **A/N:** I can't give detailed descriptions and definitions of "cenotaph" and _gisants_ enough, so just search for them on google images. It's fun, I swear. Took me five whole minutes to remember what they're called, though.


End file.
